


The Thin Line

by usuallysunny



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: After Sojourn, F/M, Gen, Masturbation, Michael's self-love but really hate, Obsession, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 14:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: If he's honest with himself, when his hand travels under the waistband of his expensive pants, it's always her face he sees."Michael loves Cordelia as much as he loathes her. He needs her" - Cody Fern





	The Thin Line

_["Michael loves Cordelia as much as he loathes her.  
He needs her" ](https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-feed/american-horror-story-apocalypse-cody-fern-antichrist-interview-1157074) _

If Michael's honest with himself, when his hand travels under the waistband of his expensive black pants, it's always her face he sees.

A soft, heart-shaped face, framed by thick caramel hair. A dark sun hat, casting shadows over fathomless depths of chocolate brown. He sees her looming over him, promises falling from her cherry lips - promises to save him, to help him, even after she's destroyed the only person he's ever really loved.

Her words had stung like ice against his always burning skin.

_"There's humanity in you, I see it. If you come with me... maybe we can find it... together."_

For one sick moment, he'd wanted to. As his eyes stung with smoke and sand and maybe tears, he'd stared at her hand until his vision blurred. He saw a whole different life flash before his eyes, one where he was safe and warm and loved. He wondered what could have been in the cards for him, had she found him first. Would things have been different, had he grown up at her Academy rather than the place the tourists  _so_   _cleverly_  call the Murder House?

 _Of course_ he had considered it. Because, at the end of the day, it's him and it's  _her_ and he's always been a slave to her affection. She's the only person whose power even comes close to his, the only one in this entire shithole world worthy of his  _respect._

But it's too late now. Those visions... just vestiges of a life long lost. When the world finally turns to ash, he'll make sure her body is top of the pile.

The fact that he'd even  _considered_ it, that he'd allowed himself to be moved - even for a  _second_  - by the same doe-eyes that had looked upon his Ms Mead as she burned atop a fiery pyre... it makes him feel sick.

Yes, Michael hates Cordelia Goode.

Because, deep down, he knows... he doesn't hate her at all.

He thinks about these things - about  _her -_ as he lays in Madelyn's guest room. She's a poor imitation of Ms Mead, really... a sycophantic nut-job whose attention strokes his ego but probably won't lead to anything fruitful. His brow arches as he hears a shuffling outside the door and he fakes a cough. His suspicions are confirmed when shadows flicker from under the crack where the light seeps in and the old woman hurries away.

He rolls his eyes to the sky.

 _At least she's afraid of him,_  he thinks as his jaw clenches. At least she recognises who he is -  _what_ he is - and awards him the proper respect.

He despises how Cordelia doesn't care, how she speaks to him like he's her  _lesser_ when he should be her King.

He doesn't care about that stupid Satanist Sect he walked in on. He has no interest in seeing them grovel at his feet.

He wants  _her_ on her knees.

The thought sends a lightening bolt which he refuses to recognise as lust sparking down the length of his spine. His fingers twitch and the urge threatens to overwhelm him again. His hands curl the crisp material of Madelyn's sheets into fists as he tries to resist.

He closes his eyes and tries to distract himself. He counts his breaths -  _in, out, in, out_ \- but there's no mistaking that familiar tightening in his groin, that liquid heat pooling in the pit of his belly.

Deep down, he knows he's fighting a losing battle. He knows what's going to happen; he's read this script a dozen times. He lasts longer than usual, exhausted from his time in the woods and his confusing encounters with the Satanists, but eventually he succumbs to his most hated (and loved) nighttime activity.

With a small growl of frustration, his fingers easily flick open the button of his pants and he slips his hand inside.

He hisses as the warmth engulfs his rapidly hardening cock. He sets a punishing rhythm from the get-go, hand tightening into a fist as he pumps up and down.

The vision of her face sears behind his eyes.

He's learnt by now, how useless it is to try and blink it away. He tries to think of something else -  _someone_  else... he thinks of Madison on her knees, big blue eyes flashing with lust as she begs to blow him... of bending Misty Day over one of those desks in that classroom in Hell... of that goddamn naked Angel in the woods (the Antichrist has no time for labels like 'gay' and 'straight)... but it's  _always_  her face he comes back to.

It haunts him, taunting him, reminding him of his weakness.

His breath snags as he surrenders to it. In a rush to get it over with, he pushes his pants down all the way and kicks them off. His hand returns to his now painfully hard cock and he feels it throb, hot and unbearably heavy, as he pumps faster.

He wants to destroy her, in more ways than one. He wants to bend her over and  _make_ her submit - to defile her, rip her, tear her in two, make her pay.

He had chastised Madelyn, looked down upon his father's followers, for their focus on the carnal pleasures of the flesh. But maybe they were right all along. He can't think of a more fitting punishment than destroying  _Miss Supreme_  from the inside out, of snuffing out that horrible light she carries with every thrust he makes between her legs.

He grits his teeth as he imagines a warm mouth replacing his hand. He tries to picture the exact shade of her lipstick, tries to envisage what sort of mark she would leave behind on his cock. He sees her before his eyes, leaning between his legs, pupils blown to black. He thinks of roaring flames, searing red, dripping blood, hissing snakes... then he thinks of bucking his hips and fucking her mouth until she gags.

That tell-tale tingle begins in the tips of his toes. The vision of her sears through his blood like wildfire. She's under his skin now. He almost wants to take a knife and cut down to the bone, just fucking  _rip her out,_ but she's seeped into every pore.

There'll be no extracting her now.

He's ready to cum, teetering on the edge, so naturally, he thinks of his mouth between her thighs. It infuriates him, but it's always the thought of  _him_ on his knees that finally gets him off. He thinks of pleasing her, of thrusting his fingers inside her and lapping at her hot cunt until she calls him a good boy. Deep down, he knows she owns him. He'd kill her, kill  _for_ her, fucking  _crawl_  for her... they're inextricably linked.

He imagines black-tipped nails digging into his scalp, punishing his curls, as he sucks on her clit and makes her scream. He wants that scream... almost as much as he wants the one that'll rip from her throat when he finally tears her heart out of her chest.

He doesn't let himself imagine kissing her. That's a boundary he never crosses.

When he comes, her name falls from his lips like a prayer. He spills hot and sticky and wet over his hand, chest rising and falling with the strain of his laboured breaths.

It's only when his breath has returned to normal that the self-loathing and shame begins to settle in.

As he runs his other hand over his tired face, he fights back his wave of hatred.

He can't let it blind him now. He has a mission to fulfil, a promise to keep.

His words echo like a symphony in his mind, the sound fighting for precedence over the blood that gushes and the pulse that pounds louder than it should in his ears.

_"I'm going to kill every last one of you."_

And he will - even if it kills him too.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really "ship" these two but I think Cody's comments on their relationship are fascinating... I just wanted to explore that a bit.


End file.
